The Journalist

by G L Rockey

  “What?”

  “Our little voyage to Bimini.”

  The truck slowing, Jim said, “Not what?”

  “Relax, looks like we’re gonna get a short ferry ride, must be going to South Island.”

  “Great, just great, another boat ride.”

  Shaking his head in disbelief, Jim glanced at the moon and wondered if he would live to see the sun rise.

  Minutes later, the truck’s tires thumping over a sand road, Jim, looking through a rusted hole in the truck’s bed, said, “The little lady better slow this piece of junk down or we may never get to see mighty guru, Joe Case.”

  “Relax, Jimbo, enjoy the ride.”

  “Enjoy the ride?”

  “Want a cigarette?”

  “You know I don’t smoke. You know that.”

  “Thought I’d ask.”

  “No,” Jim said as they hit a bump, “I think that lady who gave us the order to hold on is a sister. You see her eyes?”

  “I thought it was more Mediterranean.”

  “That was the other one.”

  Zack laughed, and as he laughed he wondered how there could be humor in any of this. He laughed again.

  Jim said, “What’s so funny?”

  “All of this.”

  Jim shook his head. “Why me, God?”

  “If anybody is laughing, He has to be.”

  “You really believe all this Main Street U.S.A. goings on is connected to Benny, don’t you?”

  “There is no other logical explanation for any of this nonsense. Think about it.”

  They bounced over another rough place in the road.

  “Slow down” Jim shouted then turned to Zack. “Zackary, what are we doing here?”

  “Looking for the truth.”

  “Looking for the truth”

  “Looking for the truth.” Zack felt the driver downshift the transmission. The vehicle slowed. “I guess we’re there.”

  “Looking for the truth.” Jim closed his eyes and shook his head.

  Chapter Forty One

  12:55 a.m. EST

  Zack noticed the pickup turning onto a soft sandy drive and inch forward. Ahead, lit by moonlight and headlights, he scanned a small pinkish bungalow silhouetted five hundred feet back from the road. As the truck got closer, he surveyed the one-story stucco-and-wood structure. He noted a light in a small rectangular window in the front. The outline of a scrawny outbuilding sat fifty feet behind the house, and thick foliage grew to the left of the driveway. He sniffed the dense tropical palm_sweet fruity air buffered with humidity. Farther out, the tropical storm grew nearer.

  “Interesting little place,” he said.

  “Looks like a chicken coop,” Jim said.

  “What were you expecting, the Presidential Palace?”

  “At least.”

  Zack sniffed the air again. He could smell a good cigar a mile away, and there was definitely a good cigar around.

  “Jimbo, we’re very close to a good cigar.”

  “So gladwonderfulhow lucky are we.”

  Ignoring the remark, Zack glanced at his watch then looked back to the house. “A light is on, somebody must be waiting for us.”

  “Firing squad.”

  “Relax.” He crushed his cigarette out and flipped the butt over the side.

  The truck came to a stop, the olive-complexioned lady stepped out and looked at Zack.

  “Okay, this is it, follow me.”

  “I guess we move out here, Jimbo.”

  “I think I’ll stay in the truck.”

  “Come on.”

  Escorted around the house to an iron-gate entrance, Zack wondered if Jim might be right. Seeing another 3.14 baseball hat perched on a stout male with some funny-looking crystal thing hanging around his neck, his wondering took on a harder edge.

  Zack nodded hello.

  The stout male nodded back.

  The lady escort motioned for the gate to be opened.

  “I don’t like this,” Jim said under his breath.

  “Looking for the truth,” Zack whispered.

  “Like I said, there’s an easier way.”

  The gate swung open and the lady escort said, “Follow me.”

  “My blood is on your hands,” Jim murmured to Zack.

  “Looking for the truth,” Zack whispered.

  They walked through the gate and arrived at an unpainted wooden door. Zack sniffed the stronger odor of cigar smoke.

  “We’re close, Jimbo.”

  “That’s what scares me.”

  The escort knocked. A familiar voice from inside called “Entrar.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Jim said.

  Chapter Forty Two

  1:00 a.m. EST

  The escort opened the door and stood aside. Zack entered but Jim paused. Studying the escort lady’s eyes, he said, “Say, are you a sister?”

  She smiled as Zack tugging Jim’s arm, said, “Let’s go,” and he and Jim entered a low-ceilinged room. The escort closed the door and stood inside.

  A single light hung from the cracked ceiling. The bare bulb illuminated the twelve-by-twelve space. The only furniture was an old wooden table and three folding chairs, two facing the table, one behind.

  Zack sensed that magnetic presence he had felt so many times before.

  After a moment of silence, Joe Case stepped out of the shadows. Smoking a cigar, he wore green army fatigues and a black Pi baseball hat. He walked to Zack.

  They embraced.

  Joe: “How are you, champ? Long time.”

  Standing back, Zack said, “Case, how have you been?”

  “Good, good.”

  “How’s Kim?”

  “Good, good.”

  “You look great,” Zack said.

  “Yes, you, too.”

  Zack indicated the tiny room. “Modest space, Case. You live here?”

  Joe smiled and with his cigar pointed to Jim. “Do I know this guy?”

  “I don’t know.” Zack asked Jim, “You know Case?”

  “Heard of him.”

  Case puffed his cigar and studied Jim. “You look a little green, muchacho. Sea a little rough?” He smiled.

  Not liking the muchacho reference, Jim said, “You look a little green yourself, boy.”

  “Atlantic’s like glass tonight,” Zack said.

  Case went behind the table, sat and suggested the two folding chairs facing him. “Have a seat.”

  Zack sat and tugged Jim’s sleeve.

  Sitting, Jim whispered, “For the record, this guy is wacko. Just want you to know”

  “Noted and thank you, massa.”

  “Ah, excuse us for the short notice,” Joe said.

  Zack paused for a moment. “Joe, we’ve been wondering. Just who is ‘us.’”

  Joe smiled and held out a humidor. “Habana, Cubano?”

  “Thank you.” Zack took six cigars.

  “Think you got enough?” Jim mumbled.

  Joe smiled. “Take all you want, plenty where those came from.”

  Zack put five in his pocket, bit the end of one, lit it and said, “Good cigar.”

  “The real thing.” Joe smiled and said, “So, Zackary, you received my fax.”

  “Yes.”

  Joe held up a small compact disc. “Zackary, remember I told you, the Pi people were putting some pieces togethergot a recording.”

  Zack studied Joe, “I think I recall your sentiments, algo está pasandoso what’s up?”

  “I think Benny is making his move,” Joe said.

  Jim nudged Zack and muttered, “I told you he’s nuts. Let’s get out of here.”

  Zack ignored Jim and said to Joe, “Maybe we should find out why we’re here.”

  “Yes, let’s. Listen to this recording. It’s garbled in places, some static, but with all we now know, the meaning is clear.” Joe blew cigar smoke toward Jim.

  Zack exhaling smoke, “With all we now know?”

  Joe said, “The eve
nts of the past few dayssince Friday. The so-called news story from Miami. That Channel 10 video.”

  Jim coughed on the cigar smoke and whispered, “This is insane.”

  Joe put the disc in a small player on the table, paused, said, “This conversation was recorded aboard the President’s yacht three months ago, Sunday, May twenty-fifth. You’ll recognize the three distinct voices—Professor Leo Novak, General Bill MacCallister and Dr. Barbara Lande.”

  Zack: “Cerebrum, Cerebellum, and Medulla Oblongata.”

  Joe: “You nailed it.”

  Zack studied Joe’s eyes. “This is the ‘something is up’?”

  “Right. With the events of this past Friday and Saturday the meaning is now unmistakable.”

  Jim stood. “Wait a minute. How do we know who’s on this tape, where it came from? This is unadulterated bullshit.”

  Zack jerked him down. “Sit down and listen.”

  Joe said, “Novak speaks first—like I said, the recording is intermittent, we had a problem with the microphone on Benny’s yacht, but you can get the gist.”

  He turned the machine on and they listened:

  Sound of throaty marine motors in the background, Lande: “It’s all perception, gentleman. Create the perception, and they’ll follow like sheep.”

  Mac: “What about the goats?”

  (Snickering)

  Lande: “How do most people know for sure that China is really there? Read about it, see it on TV, scan the Internet–nobody feels the goods anymore. It’s all virtual, the only reality is water, fire, earth, the elements, atomic numbaahs, atomic weight, how they’re put together is all in the head of homo sapiens.”

  Mac: “I’d say there’s a little more to reality than that.”

  Novak: “Lande, I think you should stick with communications, lay off the science, and most of all get rid of those nasty cigars. ”

  Lande: “Brain tissue stirs ideas and out of the mouths of the word-making-mammal comes meaning, and the meaning becomes deeds put down toward the reordering of history that ends one reality and begins another.”

  Novak: “And where is that from, Doctor?”

  Lande:“My dissertation.” .

  Novak: “Let me recap what President Armstrong and I discussed this past week at Camp David.” He cleared his throat. “As you know, with the latest unconscionable act in France the President believes that the time is ripe for a conclusive solution to international bickering, economic chaos and insane hit skip terrorism. He has no doubt in his heart that it is his divinely appointed destinya unique moment in the annals of this planet, in the context of history, that is, to conceive a new world order, to move forward in our combined human evolution with freedom and democracy for all the earth’s people.”

  (Static) Novak continued, “The President also desperately wants to make the streets of America safe again for the average freedom-loving Joe and Jane Doe. In tackling the knucklehead global bad boy syndrome at its root, he intends to forge a new world peace under American protections and freedoms at home and abroad.”

  “He wants to utilize our cyber attack superiority, the military’s satellite pre-emptive missile technology while we’re still on top.”

  Lande: “I always liked up top best.”

  Mac: “Jesus Christ.”

  Novak: “So, Doctor Lande, why don’t you expand on this plan you have to accomplish the President’s mission?”

  Lande: “As I was saying, gentlemen, it’s all perception (static)in roughly three months we’ll have(static) I’ll produce a video(static)routine traffic stopcops pull over a(static)buxom female”

  Mac: “Professor, tell me I’m not hearing this”

  Novak: “Just a minute, this is not a made-for-television movie script, Babs. Grasp the global aspect of our mission.”

  Lande: “May I finish?(static)get the big pictchasetting will be some remote area, nighttime, rough videowide shots”

  Mac: “shittin’ me”

  Novak: “Then what?”

  Lande: “The cops(static)will then have their way with the female drivaaher(static)bang her, blow jobdrug paraphernalia aroundleak the video(static)to a local TV station and, bingo, add water, stira feeding frenzy(static)President steps in”

  Mac: “You gotta be off your Boston rocker. I can’t believe you”

  Lande: “Why?”

  Mac: “What cops are stupid(static)it’s a Section Eight.”

  Lande: “General, the scene will be staged(static)actors(static)wet backs, drug addicts, porno star, snort of cocaine, few thousand bucks, whatevaa(static)they participate in a video. When it’s ovaa, well, the lady will be history, and the would-be cops(static)you work out the details on that, Mac, dear.”

  Mac: “Novak, this will get our(static)cut off. Leak to a TV station(static)past a receptionist let alone a news director. Besides, too many loose(static)actors, drug dealers. How you going to keep them from(static)too many loose ends.”

  Lande: “General, you have an explosive news video (static)get it to TV news director starved for ratingsexclusive story with red-hot videowham, bam, thank ya, ma’am, second coming stuff, the actors will have a memorable time, one and only performance, know what I mean?”

  Mac: “You’re certifiable”

  Novak: “The general just said you couldn’t get it past a receptionist, let alone a TV news director.”

  Lande: “Professor, that’sLet me explain, some(static)news director, dead last in the ratings, would give their firstborn(static)it’s called ratings, survival, you should understand survival, General.”

  Mac: “Yeah, I do and this idea gets us(static)by the unsurvival nuts.”

  Novak: “There is just one thing, Ms. Lande. What about your female victim? The media will be clamoring for her identity, now, won’t they?”

  Lande: “Like I said—drug related. A hookaasacrificegreater good”

  Mac: “I’m not believingyou’re getting more ridiculous(static)”

  Lande: “Why, General?”

  Mac: “If you don’t see the holes in this so-called plan, you flat-ass just can’t see”

  Novak: “What about police recordsthey record(static)”

  Lande: “No record existscover-up. Perfect. The community goes bananas. TV networks, cable, pick it up and(static)basic ingredientsanarchyinfiltrate protesters with our people(static)ball is then in your court, Professor. That’s when your habeas corpus and all that legalese(static)red-level terror alertConstitutional pizzazz kicks in.”

  Novak: “Yes, Article One, Section Nine(static)Article Four, Section Four(static)Four, Four(static)invasion and domestic violence(static)the Executive when the legislature cannot be convened executive emergency powers”

  Lande: “Gives the President legal authority to(static)kick some ass, right, General?”

  Mac: “Wellhe is the Commander-in-Chief.”

  Novak: “It gives the President extraordinary powers to maintain the peace and security in times of domestic violence, external threats.”

  Lande: “Whatevaa. Then the clinchaah, a major incidentwe’ll link terroristsresponsible”

  Novak: “Incident”

  Lande: “Chemical, biological(static)”

  Mac: “Jesus Christ.”

  Novak: “casualties?”

  Lande: “Have to break some eggs tobaby cakesPresident can press his joystickorder invasions of”

  “Mac: “Jesus Christ, Ithis is likemovie.”

  Lande: “Better, baby cakes.”

  Novak: “This cop plan of yours, where would you startwhat city?”

  Mac: “Novak, you can’t be going along with this lunacy.”

  Novak: “Go on, Babs.”

  Lande: “I did a li
ttle research. Happens to be a hot news battle in the Sunshine State(static)one TV station is getting its ass handed to itstatic)sixth in a three-way news rating’s war.”

  Novak: “After the video is presented, then what?”

  Lande: “Like I said(static)supplement the initial tape with stageda few incidents(static)key citiesTV news live-eye units roll(static) keep the press people busy with breaking news, air crashsabotagewhatevaaknock out a few key communication satellites. President(static)martial law, throw in a couple incidents, label them terrorist(static)President orders strikesit’s really(static)duck soup, baby cakessheep to the slaughter, so to speak. American people will rally round Benny”

  Novak: “Sounds too simple, too easy. What do you think, Bill?”

  Mac: “Those TV news people don’t trust(static) You’re not going to feed them anything. They verify(static)everything.”

  Novak: “If your mother tells you, listen, but verify, isn’t that what they say, Babs?”

  Lande: “That’s Moon Man and Otto Edward R. Morrow history, if it evaa was true(static)hot news video(static)smell a scoop, slam dunk, get it on fast, first, beat the competitionself-preservation, survivalname of the game.”

  Mac: “That’s bullshit, they still verify.”

  Lande: “General(static) You know how they(static)a hot news story(static)leaked, whatevaa(static)they use that source as verificationso and so reports, ‘reliable sources say, unconfirmed reports told us(static)speaking toon conditions of anonymityJack Dick confirms, experts announce’(static)fill in the blanks, General, like shooting fish in a(static)telling ya, baby cakes(static)kicker is, terrorist involvement(static)threat to national security, that’s the President’s excuse(static)go global.”

  Novak: “So, General, what do you think now?”

  Mac: “Well, if this bean town hotshot is right”

  Lande: “PR line will be this is essential to preserve the Union, the peace, the family unit, democracy, hell’s bells, the children, apple pie, religion.”

  Novak: “And it is just that.”